


Claiming Gotham

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Joker - Fandom, New Teen Titans, Rose Wilson - Fandom, Teen Titans
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Wilson accidentally starts a war on the Clown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If you operated out of Gotham long enough, you eventually stepped on some toes, ruffled some feathers, and generally agitated the locals. Though Rose Wilson had learned enough from her father not too cause too much of a disturbance, particularly amidst the level of lunacy the criminals in the gothic city housed, eventually you couldn't help but stumble down the wrong alley, or slit the wrong throat in the dark of the night. The one-eyed mercenary known as Ravager was looking at just such an accident now. She'd been following up on the information Nigma had fed her from the military computer. Honestly, she'd expected to end up in Tockman's neighbourhood, but maybe she'd taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Regardless, the clown faced goons had startled her coming down the alley, and she'd reacted on instinct, twin katanas flashing in the moonlight, a spray of blood, and then three dead henchman staring blankly up at her. A string of expletives dropped from the young woman's lips, she was hardly a block from the fabled "Funhouse" and she did not particularly wish to start a turf war with a lunatic. She also didn't want to come off as a spineless bag of piss. Decisions, decisions.

With a sigh she tugged the bodies into a tidy little row, crossing the stiffening arms across their chests before using her dagger to carve the left eye out of each of them. It wasn't a declaration, more of a warning, she told herself, even though she knew the comfort was both fleeting and of little value. Perhaps the so-called Clown Prince of Crime wouldn't care one way or another. Regardless, she left the scene as it was, her own little welcome to the neighbourhood.


	2. Chapter 2

The increase in activity in Joker's turf indicated to Rose that her message was received, and not at all appreciated. She perched on a nearby rooftop, single eye surveying the scene below. It was fascinating, watching the henchmen scuttle about like beetles, scrambling to grasp the smallest clue as to her identity, and failing miserably. Ravager wasn't a name widespread amidst the criminal underworld. It was like a secret, something whispered in dark corners. Even her time among the Teen Titans was glossed over, a mere footnote in the history of a team that was constantly shifting membership.

She grimaced, then again, Deathstroke was notorious for his inability to keep his offspring alive. Perhaps the scum that had heard of her simply assumed that she had followed the path of her older brothers, dying in the service of whatever drove their father to do what he did. She contemplated the fact that her own path echoed his, perhaps they were at odds, but what they did was fairly similar. She was just... more circumspect in her targets. There were persons that no amount of money would send her hunting through the silent streets.

Right now, her mission was simple. No pay. No boss. No deadlines. She'd stumbled upon an opportunity to upset the cackling clown who had crowned himself King of Gotham, and why not indulge in a little self-satisfaction? Catching sight of a pair of goons drifting too far from the pack, she rose, silent as the Bats that stalked rooftops further uptown. She had, after all, been trained by the Gloomy Knight's primary protege. Chemically enhanced strength and agility sent her leaping from rooftop to rooftop, seeking her prey when it was most vulnerable.

There, they had returned to the scene of her first kills, the accidents that had spawned this whole adventure. The soft whisper of steel against leather sounded like gunshots in her own ears within the heavy silence that settled around the mercenary before a kill, but all was well. The oblivious middle men below heard nothing. She dropped from the height, no concern for the strain on her joints as she landed, feet making contact with the shoulders of the first goon. Bones cracked as he crumpled wordlessly below her, even his sturdy frame no match for gravity. Pushing off, she sprung from the heap of moaning minion, catching the gun hand of the second just as he turned to investigate the rather curious sound.

Her blades did not fail her, deadly sharp, with an accuracy honed from childhood, the face of the thug was stunned as he registered the spurting stump where once he clasped a pistol. The white haired assassin spun, blades gleaming in the murky alley, and the goon dropped, blood coalescing along the cut across his neck. Bending down, Rose checked the first goon, finding him still breathing. She considered it a mercy kill as she drove her katana through his left eye, into the soft matter of his brain. Huffing, she arranged the two bodies like the first, arms crossed, taking a moment to desecrate the second minion's face, cutting out his eye to match the first. It was good to have a calling card when you were starting a territory war.


	3. Chapter 3

Gotham City. A stinking, rancid cesspool. Its infestation was worse than that of the most flea-bitten cur. Birds, bats, clowns… you name it, it was crawling through the decrepit cobblestones and clinging to dark, dank crevices. What was worse, these fools didn’t seem to understand that her turf was off limits. She wasn’t a hero, she didn’t give two good fucks if the mangy mongrels devoured each other in the middle of the streets, but she didn’t want them in her backyard. Okay so it wasn’t a backyard, it was a cracked mess of concrete and faded asphalt, but she didn’t have fucking curtains, and the parts of the window that weren’t held together by duct tape were not going to let her ignore the costumed goons beating some poor shmuck repeatedly with what looked like rubber chickens.

Sighing in exasperation and irritation, she dug out her costume, tugging it on with exaggerated frustration. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to put on the mask and the scales that declared her the daughter of Slade Wilson. She didn’t fucking want to do anything besides lay on her sticky floor and imagine that she didn’t exist. Fuckers ruined everything. She was going to fuck them up royally for that.

Tossing her eye patch aside, she paused to glare into the shattered remains of what was once a mirror. The scarred tissue in her empty eye socket screamed obscenities inside her mind. Reminded her that she was weak, foul... spawn of Slade. An echo of an image she could never live up to. She had emotions he lacked, and he had control she would never achieve. An imperfect copy. A failure. A disappointment.

Closing her eyes, she covered her face with the mask. Covering her shame. Wearing the mask, she wasn’t Rose anymore. She was The Ravager. A weapon. Mindless. Death and destruction and a pair of blades. It was what He had wanted her to be, but not what /he/ had wanted for her. Life was confusing, but she pushed it all aside for the moment. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t fight hot… shouldn’t. Distractions were a thousand tiny deaths waiting to catch you. She had to be cold as the night and twice as quiet. That was her gift to those that dwelled in their little ghetto. She’d keep the monsters at bay, simply for the chance to lay alone and in peace.

Blades sheathed she moved silently for the door, hesitating one final moment, fingers clenching. There, just to her left was a stained paper bag containing the last of her adrenaline. The desire for the drug coursed through her like a fire. Addiction was like a living thing within her, whispering its dark promise from the centre of her weakness. So easy to clutch another crutch. She didn’t need it for fuckheads like those outside, but she wanted it, and that was somehow worse. She squeezed her hand into a fist, the half-moons of her nails digging into her palms until they bled. She might not be stronger than this, but fuck if she was going to let something that fit in the palm of her hand beat her.

Decisively she strode out the door, silence abandoned as she slammed the door on the hunger howling within herself. The idiots who had come a-calling on her doorstep looked up, garish makeup smearing over their sweaty faces, pooling in greying rivulets down their hideous jackets, like day old semen on a dead alley whore.

The young woman allowed her lips to curl in cruel mockery of a smile. “Well I don’t remember setting up a block party tonight, but I can’t say I’m disappointed by the piñatas provided.” The bigger thug dropped whatever idiot they were brutalizing and scrabbled for his gun, while the second man simply ran at Ravager. Lightning-fast reflexes had a blade in her hand, body bending backwards to dodge the goon’s first swing at her face, legs following as she left the ground, first one wrapping around his neck and then the other, abdominals crunching until she was mounted on his back.

The bloodlust was flowing, but Rose was lost in the moment. Adrenaline pumping naturally for once, her mind flashed. She dug her heel into the thug’s left side, sending him careening to the right just as the sound of a gun going off rang through the evening. The one-eyed girl flipped her blade, driving the point between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae, severing the spine. She knew a moment before his legs gave out, coiling herself and springing from his back as he hit the ground, paralyzed but not dead… yet.

The blood looked black in the unlit parking lot, dark on dark as a soft, wordless moaning escaped the unfortunate fucker’s mouth. She turned, second katana in hand and in front of her face, just barely deflecting a second bullet. The blade of her sword shattered, shrapnel embedding in her cheek as she tossed it aside and threw herself into a roll to the left. The next few minutes were a mad scramble as the remaining goon emptied his clip into her trail, always missing by just the narrowest of margins as she crossed back and forth across the tarmac.

The criminal paused, chest heaving as he struggled to dislodge the clip. A dainty finger tapped on his shoulder, Rose ignored the fact that her sleight stature meant she practically had to stand on her toes for the gesture. Giving him a bloody grin she pulled back her wrist, punching with a force almost unbelievable in a figure her size. Again and again she pummeled her fists into his big ugly face, not even noticing when he dropped the firearm to try to block her assault with his meaty arms. The quiet snap of the radius bones was echoed by the louder snap from the thicker ulna as she forced him to the ground with the ferocity of her madness.

She didn’t hesitate until the man stopped moving, the wet, mangled pulp that made up his face clinging to her fists as the intensity of her barrage faded. Whoever the goons' victim had been, he was smart enough to have made himself scarce by now, not that she noticed. Rose collapsed to her knees for a moment. Breathless. This wasn’t a message, this was a meltdown. She kneeled there in the blood, listening to the paralyzed man whimper for ten long minutes before she managed to struggle back to her feet. Walking over she dragged her blade from his back, kicking him over half-heartedly to ram the blade through his left eye.  
Without another glance at the mess she created, she turned and trudged off. Leaving both whole and broken blade behind. She needed a new place to crash, coming back here after this would be a mistake.


End file.
